


The FBI Doesn't Have a Little Shop

by Meggory



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, Ficlet, Gen, Mulder's best day ever, Scully has not had enough coffee, impossible odds, little shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/pseuds/Meggory
Summary: "I'm sorry, I was told the little shop was down here," apologized a man with a London accent. "Should have known the FBI wouldn't actually have a shop. Disappointing, though. Love a little shop."





	The FBI Doesn't Have a Little Shop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mariyahs_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariyahs_Truth/gifts).



> A wee ficlet for Mariyahs-Truth!

"This same face shows up in photos dating to the beginning of early photography, Scully!" protested Mulder, his hands full of black and white pictures.

Scully bent to peer at the array of newspaper clippings on the desk. "I admit they bear a striking familial resemblance. The hair is particularly out of place for some of these time periods."

"Not family! It's the same man! There's even a painting of him!" Mulder scattered the photos on the desk and flipped through a manila folder. He slapped a glossy colour postcard bearing the man in a heavily adorned royal uniform and sash wearing the same pointed, intense features.

" _Her Majesty's Doctor_ ," Scully read from the back of the card. "Mulder, even the blurb says the portrait's considered a joke. Someone painted it to get noticed by the upper class back in Elizabeth the First's day."

Mulder pushed his rolled sleeves up over his elbow, settling in for a good fight. "I have dozens of eyewitness reports, all describing the same man—identical, Scully, right down to the Converse sneakers that somehow existed back in Agatha Christie's day."

Scully raised her eyebrow at her partner. "The same thirty-something man can't exist in 1919 and 1999, Mulder. It's not—"

"I'm sorry, I was told the little shop was down here," apologized a man with a London accent. "Should have known the FBI wouldn't actually have a shop. Disappointing, though. Love a little shop."

The agents stared at him.

Scully lifted the postcard up to compare the man's face with the painting. "If this is a prank, Mulder, I'll kick your ass without taking off my heels."

Mulder's face had gone supernova with wonder. "You're the Doctor," he breathed.

"Hello!" The man smiled brightly and wiggled his fingers. "And you are?"

"Agent Fox Mulder," replied Mulder, knocking over his chair as he leapt up. "And you're the Doctor."

The Doctor furrowed his brow slightly. "Yes, established that. Why are you all the way down here, anyway? No one else is down here."

"So the FBI can hide their shame and we still get our pensions," replied Mulder, still wearing open awe despite his wry tone. "What are the odds of you walking in here?"

"Mm, too early for that kind of mental math," replied the Doctor. He waved an old evidence bag in front of him. Inside, a block of notepaper advertised the Watergate Hotel. "I was just trying to return this to the proper office, but it would seem my coordinates were wrong. Again. I suppose I'll have to set the date manually and try again. Nice to meet you, Agent Mulder and Agent Whose Name I Didn't Catch. Your hair is exactly the right shade of ginger."

As he ducked out the door, Scully cried after him, "Wait!"

The Doctor poked his head back in the office. "Yes?"

Still squinting at him and the postcard, she asked, "What do you mean by set the date manually?"

A wide, delighted grin crossed his face. "Ever want to meet old J. Edgar?"

He disappeared into the hall. Mulder dashed after him across the office with a gleeful expression. "Time travel," he hissed at his partner before rounding the corner out the door.

Scully blew a bewildered breath out and gaped helplessly at the pictures on the desk and the postcard portrait in her hand. She had not had nearly enough coffee that morning.

From the hallway, Mulder's voice crowed, "Scully, come look, it's bigger on the inside!"

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, please leave a comment, even if it's just a keyboard smash! Feedback feeds the muse!


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